Author's Notes:
I'm ashamed to admit it, but going to a boarding school and living
on dorm with 60 Adam Brody and Benjamin McKenzie-obsessed girls does
strange things to a girl's mind.

And I, despite my
inhuman strength, have become an O.C. addict. Who needs hookers when
you have O.C. whores?

Anyhoo, I wrote this
because I both love and loathe Theresa the way I love and loathe
Marissa.

But mostly loathe her.

And yet still, I know
she belongs with Ryan.

Damn.

Anyway . . . enjoy!

Nothing
But Time

The phone rings during
dinner. They sit quietly, staring at their food, both not knowing if
the other is going to answer, or if it's supposed to be left on the
hook. He glances up finally, his eyes questioning, and Theresa
shrugs. Not answering the phone during dinner has always been
Theresa's pet peeve, but she recently she's let him get by with a
lot, and he's grateful – the selfish, petulant side of him thinks
that its no less that he deserves, giving up a better life so that
she could – the baby could . . .

"You can answer it,"
she tells him tiredly, not looking up from her T.V. dinner. "I
mean, if you want." He forces a smile, but doesn't stand to
answer it. They let it ring for another minute before Theresa
comments, "It must be important if they're going to stay on the
line for so long."

He shrugs. "Or
they've got nothing but time," he comments glibly, yet his words
are a double-edged sword: they don't have to work and provide
for a family that they never wanted in the first place.

"Just answer the damn
phone, Ryan," she snaps, dropping her fork onto her plate. He
blinks, looking up at her, but she doesn't meet his eyes. "It
might be Mr. Cohen or . . . I don't know, anyone else and – just
– answer the damn phone."

By 'anyone else'
they both know she means 'Marissa'. I left that life behind,
he tries to tell himself, but no – I left this life
behind. He can't keep his eyes from wandering down to Theresa's
growing stomach, and he something that feels dangerously like love
for the growing kid buds in his stomach. She inhales sharply, as
though trying to keep herself from crying, and she stands abruptly,
turning her back on him. He remains sitting at the table, his eyes
fastened on the wood in a desperate attempt to distract himself from
whatever news he's missing.

The phone continues to
ring.

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